One in Four
by bithnic
Summary: A BITHNIC ORIGINAL: Abbey is bored. So bored that she's decided to do something she's been told not to; have a baby. So what will happen when life turns on Abbey and forces her to face her responsibilities before its too late?
1. The story so far

**MONTH ONE**

**(THE STORY SO FAR)**

It wasn't as if I was the only teenager in the world going through this at the moment or had ever been through it. Pregnancy, the so called miracle of life. To say it was a mistake would be simply to deny that I had ever had sexual intercourse, and well we all know that it's physically impossible to be a Virgin Mary...with the exception of IVF and all that. I knew the risks of what I was doing, and I understood the consequences. But when I skipped my period I was hoping for an STI rather than an unwanted pregnancy.

Over the summer break _I _had began to accept my fate. My parents on the other hand; well I can't say that my own mother was thrilled at the news of potentially becoming a grandmother while her skin was wrinkle-free, not that she ever intended to get wrinkles. My options had been weighed, or shall I rephrase that as _their_ options. Abortion, adoption, shipping me off to some far away state of America to hide that fact that I was pregnant and my bastard child once it was born or simply killing me. My father's preference was the last of the few.

Their first question had been simple enough; 'who was the father?' When I refused to tell them my father began shouting at me, calling me every name between a whore and a prostitute. And for once in his life he was utterly and simply correct. For someone that didn't even know I was highly allergic to peanuts he seemed to be able to correctly stick a label on me. No I'm not a mistress of the night, just a floozy; a girl who doesn't even know who the father of her own unborn child is or should be. All I can say is that I've learnt to now ask for at least the name of the guy I'm about to sleep with. But with ten names in one week, well somehow I don't think that would help to improve the situation.

I didn't blame my parents for being ashamed of me or barely talking to me after the 'revelation'. We weren't of a poor socio-economic status. We were rich, well educated and above all respected. My father is second in charge in one of the world's leading banks. I know I'm meant to be proud but it all seems so boring. My mother is a woman of the house and more discreetly a woman of the pool room. I've known for a while that the pool boy was not just someone that did a good job at maintaining the cleanliness of the pool. This pathetic stereotypical relationship has been in the works for a good ten months now.

To make matters worse they were even more furious at my stubbornness as I decided to keep this 'thing'. My mother cried. My father smashed a very expensive vase. They asked me why. I said I was bored. It'd give me something to do for the next nine months and eighteen years of its life. It couldn't be that bad. Besides, when I do get bored then I'll just hire a nanny to look after it.

On the bright side of things, summer was finally drawing to its conclusion with autumn and then winter approaching. As the colder months approached I took comfort in the fact that I would be able to hide my ever growing stomach inside the over-sized jumper of one of the guys that was bound to 'drive me home'.


	2. One size fits all

**MONTH TWO**

**(ONE SIZE FITS ALL)**

Mother Nature wasn't as kind as I gave her credit for. Summer prolonged halfway into autumn delaying my getting use to baggy sweaters and oversized jumpers. I would have rather people thought it was a phase I was going through rather than having them know what I was hiding underneath. However in this case the weather wouldn't have done much to protect me anyway. The rumour mill spread quickly and ferociously at the private (I wonder if 'private' is a deliberate pun on the education systems behalf considering _nothing_ is ever kept private in a private school) school that I attended.

Girls snickered at me behind my back and to my face. Numerous notes were passed regarding me in class. Usually when a teacher catches a student with a note they first read it themselves and then have the student read it aloud to the class as a humiliating punishment. In this case the teachers read the notes and did no more. I suppose in a way that they were trying to protect me, from further humiliation. But there was nothing they could do. Nothing to calm the spreading fire of gossip.

The girls I could handle. The boys...well that's a different story altogether. The hunger in their eyes was sexual, all I could see in their faces was the thought to them that I was just a piece of meat; always have been always will be. And yet that smug grin that hung on their fact said 'she's pregnant, no protection needed'. Some looked at me with disgust. What hypocrites. Once a girl becomes pregnant they don't want her because they know that she's had sex before; they all think she's old and all used up to put in bluntly. And yet for a girl who isn't pregnant and has the reputation of being somewhat easy...well they're all for that! I should know; I've been in both pairs of shoes now and trust me one size does fit all. Before I'd found myself in this situation, I had been that 'easy' going girl. And I'd witnessed more than enough times how the pregnant girls were treated by the boys. Now I'd been on both sides of the line. As the cliché goes, I've seen it all.

It didn't take long for the first one for the term to approach. His eyes screamed hunger. I had an easy reputation; who was I to judge?

Again and again they all came to me, looking for the one guilty pleasure but in different varieties. Sure the number of guys who came to me was down but that was because I was pregnant. Who was I to complain? I was only a pawn (no pun intended).

It wasn't until my eighth week when I realised that these simple school yard shags weren't enough for me anymore. Pressed against the wall of the toilet cubicle while some guy who I shared my English class with tried to make this simple exercise into a porno, I became aware of the fact that I needed to broaden my horizons.


	3. Mother Goose

**MONTH THREE**

**(MOTHER GOOSE)**

"Abbey, are you listening Abbey?"

My attention turned, slowly from the window that overlooked the car park where I was exchanging daring looks from a senior standing at his car. My dead eyes looked back at his hungry eyes. Fire to warm up the cold of the darkness; a perfect match.

"As I was saying Abbey, the school is advising that you take classes for expectant mothers and those already with children. The program helps to set you up for, well let's say the unexpected. Just because your body is set up to produce a child and give birth doesn't necessarily mean that you will know what to do when it comes to caring for your newly born. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yep" I replied, the emotion in my voice completely flat. I turned back to look out the window but of course the boy was already walking off with another easy target. Insulted wasn't the word I would use to describe my mood at that moment. It was more impatient as I waited to be able to go outside again and find some guy that would for five to twenty minutes pretend that he cared about me.

So far this pregnancy thing was boring me more than I had already been previously.

It wasn't as if I had no respect for my teachers, fellow peers and myself, because I did. My actions were simple; life is boring without making it enjoyable. Following the rules all your life, being praised by everyone you know and finally becoming a somebody, wasn't my idea of fun. Some people might say that I had a serious complex and just didn't want to follow the rules.

"So instead of participating in physical education I think it would be safer for both you and your child to attend the 'young mothers' sessions."

"Ok"

The principal, a man with few grey hairs left and more wrinkles than an elephant, smiled. His crooked nose turned it into some kind of ghastly Picasso piece. Whenever I looked at his face all I could picture was Freddy from Nightmare on Elm Street. This was what young teenagers nightmares were made of. Horror movies plus a comforting guy equals sex. If only teachers could really make math that simple. But then what would my equation be? Irresponsibility plus easy chick plus guy equals sex plus time equals pregnancy?

I expected 'young mothers' to be full of screaming babies and mothers who didn't give a shit. I expected the door to be moulding, perhaps even off its hinges. As for the paint, I expected it to be yellow and peeling. The colour yellow apparently makes babies cry more. Guess it's too happy for them too.

However upon approaching the class room I realised that not a sound came from the room. Was I even in the right place? I walked to the door and looked inside. A pair of eyes met mine and smiled. The eyes of a baby.

"Oh hello, you must be Abbey. I'm Charlotte, and this is Christopher"

I looked up to the hand that held the baby named Christopher. A girl sat with him in her lap, smiling at me a way no one had ever smiled before. I tried to smile back but failed. I walked into the room and took a seat.

"This is Young Mothers" she said looking around the room and laughing. "Not much of a program. Most girls drop out when they become pregnant. But I want something more for my Christopher here. The teachers don't bother to show up so don't be too concerned with coming up if you don't want to"

I looked back to her child and smiled. His eyes resembled those of his mothers while his boyish looks belonged somewhere else; obviously his father.

It would have been easy just to stand up and leave the room. To turn my back on 'Young Mothers' and Charlotte. But for some reason I didn't. Maybe I was bored.


	4. Sex, Drugs and Booze

**MONTH FOUR**

**(SEX, DRUGS AND BOOZE)**

"I wish you wouldn't smoke. It can't be good for your baby" whispered Charlotte.

Over the past month Charlotte and I had begun to share some form of friendship. Not the convention type where all we would discuss the latest gossip and all we would do is shop and play dress-ups. We'd sit inside the room known as 'Young Mothers' and take up our time with conventional things. For example, Charlotte would spend quality time with her baby, while I smoked and tried to learn some of the very basics of caring for a baby.

When I couldn't be bothered, I'd kick back my feet and have a cigarette. At the time, when I first did this in front of Charlotte, she gave me a disapproving look saying that my smoking could have serious health effects on the four of us; her, Chris, myself and my unborn baby. I just shrugged it off. Ever since then her protests had become quieter with knowledge that she couldn't stop me.

That's when the booze started.

I'd come to Young Mothers slightly tipsy. Charlotte found me funny and found no real reason to protest. Then I started coming to Young Mothers drunk. Charlotte had her protests but I couldn't hear them over my own hunger for more alcohol.

The hunger had now grown worse. Now I was actually bringing a bottle of whatever I could get my hands on to Young Mothers. Charlotte threatened to dob me into the principle. I threatened to kill her child. Everything was fine now, peachy-keen.

My erratic behaviour grew worse. While I was drinking during the day, my active activity of shagging had moved onto the streets and clubs. How I got in...Well I slept with security. The club owners didn't mind letting me in; I was bring them in a hefty profit without having to spend any of my own money. Everyone bought me drinks, everyone gave me drugs, everyone got a shag in the toilet cubicles and at the end of every night I'd go home with some guy with a huge grin on his face.

It was my new lifestyle, and I sure as hell wasn't protesting. Charlotte was the only one with the problem. And then, one day she snapped.

"Abbey don't you care at all for your child?" she demanded, her face hot with anger.

"Not really" I admitted as I took another swig out of my almost empty bottle of tequila. I could feel her glaring at me but I pretended not to take any notice of her. I could feel the alcohol starting to take effect on my starved body. The day was starting to look up.

"God Abbey! You're so selfish. Just look at yourself! You're drinking yourself to death. You go clubbing on school nights, so of course your grades are suffering, and all those drugs. Don't you care about your own health?"

"Personally" I slurred, "I don't think it's any of your god damn business"

She went quiet. Her breathing began to quaver as she started to cry. "We started out as really good friends, but now..." her sobs came out harder as a rolled my eyes. "Abbey, nothing good can come of this."

I turned towards Chris and pointed. "I didn't ask for this. I'm still not sure if I even want it. So just mind your own business"

Maybe I wasn't bored, maybe I was confused. Or maybe I was just looking for a purpose on life.


	5. Emotions

_**MONTH FIVE**_

_**(EMOTIONS)**_

Chris was dead.

The rumour going around school was that Charlotte had held him down in the bath and drowned him. Who knew if it was true, probably not, but it gave people something to talk about. Talking was always good, except that Charlotte was doing barely any of it. I'd pass her in the hall between classes, but she'd just drift by unaware of her surroundings but not unaware of what people were saying about her.

Threatening letters were left inside of her locker regarding the rumour that she had killed her own baby. Food was thrown at her during lunch and obscene phrases and cute little poems were written in toilet cubicles. Charlotte the Ciller. Obviously some people still couldn't spell.

And so with the death of Chris came the re-appearance of his father for a brief period of time.

He was cute, he was mourning and he was David. We shagged in the backseat of his car before he broke down and cried in my arms.

David stayed for the funeral and left shortly after. He left with a quiet goodbye, never looking at Charlotte and never asking me for another root.

A week went by but Charlotte didn't bother to turn up to Young Mothers. For a few days I didn't drink, I didn't smoke, I didn't do anything. I just sat there and waited for Charlotte to walk through the door, but she never did.

I went through the room, looking for something to read or do while I waited. I searched the few cupboards in the room and the teacher's desk. Inside the top draw of the desk I found Chris' blue pacifier. For a moment I just looked at it oddly. It was only made of plastic, so why was it bringing tears to my eyes? Why did this stupid dummy make me feel so sad?

After that day I took the binkie with me everywhere. I kept in the pocket of my pants until I found Charlotte. She sat in the shade of a Willow tree facing towards the car park. Her chin was on her knees, her hands wrapped around her legs.

I approached her and put Chris' pacifier down besides her feet. A moment passed between us before Charlotte looked up at me and into my eyes. She had been crying recently. The tears had not long been cleared from her face but her eyes were still damn and red, her skin still pink and puffy.

Then she finally spoke to me. Her words were cold and harsh as they cut through me. At first I couldn't string all of her words together; I only understood them as singular words. The look in my eyes told her that, so she started again.

"It's not fair that you trash your body and get to keep your baby. It's just not fair. You walk around destroying your unborn baby with liquor, cigarettes and drugs and you don't care about it. You don't care about the outcome or the impact of what you're doing to either you or your baby. You just don't care. And yet for some reason...for some unexplainable reason, God thinks you will be a better mother than I was. I wasn't good enough for my Christopher so he took him away from me. I know now that I wasn't good enough. If I only hadn't turned my back on him for those few minutes he would still be alive. "

There was a slight pause in time as I thought if I should dare to ask a grieving mother the most difficult question there was to be asked. "So you didn't kill him then?"

"Of course I didn't kill him Abbey! Do you have any idea just how insensitive that sounds? You're just like everyone else at this stupid private school, if not worse!"

"...I slept with David"

"What the hell Abbey, what in the fucking hell is that all about?! Oh yeah, I just lost my baby and now you go and tell me that you slept with Christopher's father. Just what is your problem Abbey? Are you that bored with your own life that you need to destroy everything around you for a little amusement? When God allowed you to keep your baby and take mine from me he made a grave mistake. All you do is pollute your body and take everything for granted. You're rich so you don't need to care about anything or anyone. Money fixes everything for you, huh? Now I would never wish anything harmful against your baby, but I do wish you could only see what you're doing to the both of you"

I was getting bored again when I turned my back on Charlotte. But this new panging feeling in my chest wouldn't leave me alone. Was I starting to feel bad about my choices in life? Nah.


End file.
